


We're Beautiful As We Feel

by Satchelfoot



Category: High Fidelity (2000)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Female Relationships, Flirting, Lists, Music, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 19:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satchelfoot/pseuds/Satchelfoot
Summary: Rob and Laura got back together. Then Laura and Rob broke up again. And then, sometime later, Laura found herself at one of Marie DeSalle's shows.





	We're Beautiful As We Feel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dasyatidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasyatidae/gifts).



My desert-island, all-time, top five most memorable split-ups, in whatever order amuses me the most right now:

1\. None of your fucking business.  
2\. Trust me, you don’t want to know.  
3\. To hell with that guy. I won’t even put his name in my mouth or on my screen.  
4\. Oh, you’re still here? Aren’t you bored yet?  
5\. Rob Gordon

Rob dear, you’re lovely, but we were just never going to work in the long run. After that first year processing Dad’s death, I had to reevaluate a few things, and to my sadness, though not my complete surprise, our relationship turned out to be one of those things. I’ll always treasure most of the time I spent with you, notwithstanding a few obvious fuckups, and I’ll drop by a party you’re DJing every once in a while. (Just please don’t ever play “Let’s Get It On” when I’m there.)

I did pick up some habits of yours that have stayed with me, just as I’m sure some of mine have stuck with you. People do that to each other, and it’s not all bad. For example, I feel compelled to arrange so much of my life into top five lists now. I sometimes found it so irritatingly reductive when you would do that, but now I think understand, at least a little bit. All that listing helps me keep some things clearer in my head. I could easily name my top five most interesting court cases—I won’t, because of confidentiality and professionalism, but that list is floating right at the top of my head right now. Oh, here we go, top five breakfast items: scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, toasted English muffins, orange juice, bacon. Ha, you didn’t know if bacon was going to get in there, did you! I kept you in suspense until the very end of the list. See, it’s a compulsion, all the lists, impossible to stop.

So here I am, in the early days of 1997, doing fine. My law career is amazing and only getting better. I’m incredibly busy, but I still have time to do some volunteer work on Saturdays _and_ make myself breakfast and linger over the paper on Sunday morning. Evenings, I curl up with Maeve Binchy or Walter Mosley and maybe have a glass of wine. I still see my friends a few times a month and call my mom about every six weeks, which is pretty decent for us. I haven’t really thought about dating since I left Rob. I don’t exactly have the time right now—or, more to the point, the need.

I don’t know why I choose tonight to go to the bar. It’s definitely not out of any hope of seeing Rob; in fact, I’m definitely hoping he’s not around tonight. Last time I was familiar with his schedule, he was still pretty busy at the store on Friday nights, so we should both be safe from a chance meeting. Probably.

“Hey, Laura,” says the bartender, this poor guy whose name I can never remember. “How you been?”

“Can’t complain. You?”

“Just fine.” He grins. “Okay, top five movies of 1996.”

“ _Jerry Maguire_ , _Fargo_ , _The Birdcage_ , _Romeo + Juliet_ , _That Thing You Do_ ,” I rattle off without really having to think about it. “Yours?”

“ _Trainspotting_ , _Lone Star_ , also _Fargo_ , _Mission: Impossible_ , _Big Night_.” He looks up from the drink he’s mixing. “Your usual?”

“Yeah, please.” He remembers my usual, and I am still struggling to place his name. I glance behind me at the stage to take my mind off the guilt. “Who’s on tonight?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard? Marie DeSalle is finally back in town.”

Holy shit. Marie DeSalle. That is a name I haven’t thought about in a while.

Rob never came out and said he slept with her after his and my first breakup. I never asked and never particularly wanted to know details. But it was utterly obvious from the moment he introduced us that one time. And it’s not like I held it against him, much. I mean, she’s _gorgeous_ , after all.

I chat with the bartender some more, until I hear the unmistakable piano intro to “I Feel the Earth Move” by Carole King. God, I haven’t listened to _Tapestry_ in ages, but it helped me survive adolescence. I turn around to get an eyeful as well as an earful.

And Marie sings it wonderfully. Of course she does. Every earnest, hopelessly romantic note of it. I’m wondering what song could possibly follow that when our eyes meet. Hers widen. She smiles.

“Okay, I’m gonna stick with Carole for one more song,” she says. “This one goes out to someone I haven’t seen in a while. I hope she already knows what I’m about to tell her.”

And she starts in on “Beautiful,” my favorite thing Carole has ever done. Marie DeSalle is telling me—and the whole room, really, but definitely me—that I’m beautiful as I feel. I have butterflies in a way I haven’t felt in a good long time.

And now I’m thinking of a mix tape for her, one that is all filled up with songs like Joni Mitchell’s “Help Me” and Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” and… what is going on?

I might be in trouble.

In what feels like no time, after singing some of her own songs, Marie promises to come back in ten, hops off the stage, comes straight to me, and wraps me up in a big hug.

“Laura Lydon! God, I haven’t seen you in forever. Is Rob here?” she asks, with a sort of flicker of her eyes that says she’s sort of but not really looking around for him.

“Um, no. We, uh… we’re not together anymore.” Am I _stammering_? I don’t stammer anymore. I’ve barely stammered since I hit my thirties. What is this?

She looks serious for a moment, just in case she’s hit a sore spot. “Okay. Are you doing all right with that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s actually been really good.”

“Good. That’s good. I’m so glad to hear that.” And she smiles at me. All of her face smiles at me, eyes included.

I’m in trouble here.

She has to go say hi to her friends before the next set, but she comes back to me for another hug before she gets back up on stage. Damn, she is _good_. I have another drink and try to not to think too much about the way her lips move, her bare arms in that cute purple top… and then I admit to myself, what the hell, just thinking about a pretty person never did any harm. And I haven’t thought about anyone like this in a while. It’s nice.

After the show and a round of goodbyes, she comes back to me. Again. “What are you doing after?” she asks.

“No plans.”

“Walk me home, then?”

So that’s how I end up walking next to Marie La Salle, who once had a fling with my ex before we got back together and then broke up again, chattering about the last couple of years while I figure out what to do with the sudden onset of a stomach-sized crush.

Like I said, I don’t _need_ somebody right now. I mean that. I’m happy just being Laura on my own. That does not mean I’d say no to spending an evening with someone sweet who laughs at my lawyer jokes and tells me all about her little brother’s disastrous attempt to cook a Thanksgiving turkey.

So we get to her block and I’m still thinking my crush on her is a one-way thing and I should probably start saying my goodbyes before we actually get to her door when she says, “Want to come up?”

I’m actually so far off in my head, thinking forward to my evening alone with a dozen CDs and a blank tape, that I almost say no, I’m good, I’ll just go off and obsess over you rather than actually see your perfect face some more.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay.” But she puts a hand on my shoulder and purses her lips before opening the door. “I’m not just asking if you want to come up to have some tea and hang out. I’m hoping you want to spend the night and make out with me and maybe fool around.” She sighs shortly. “Am I coming on too strong right away?”

“No. Just right,” I say, pulling her close.

And I kiss her. And what happens next is between me and her. But between you and me, it’s really good.


End file.
